


All he knew: Origins

by SugarCloud15



Series: All he knew [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (Updated description because now it's sounds better), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, More angst than intended, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, this was supposed to be fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarCloud15/pseuds/SugarCloud15
Summary: "When he woke up for the first time, he knew nothing.He wasn’t allowed.Until the building shook while he was in the corridor."He is all alone...until a group of people he doesn't know comes to save him. They give him a name and a place to live.But soon he develops powers he doesn't understand and becomes afraid of himself and other people.





	1. Chapter 1

When he woke up for the first time, he knew nothing. He could form sentences and knew some words, but others he never knew. They were over him, watching him, waiting for him to do something. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what doing something was. He was trying to figure it out.

“What is your name?” One of them said. “Do you know?” He shook his head and replied.

“I don’t know.” His voice was quiet, wrong. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel like his. It was too old to be his. How did he know it what his voice should be? He knew nothing. How did his voice sound too old? It can’t be his. But it came out of him. If it wasn’t his, who’s was it? It had to be, there was no one else it could have been.

“Your age?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where you are?”

“I don’t know.” They asked more questions about him, things he felt he should know, but he didn’t. It was…he didn’t know the word, but he didn’t like not knowing. He needed to know. But he’s not allowed. They told him he’s not allowed to know about who he was before, and he wasn’t allowed to ask.

They sat him up while they asked questions and pushed something towards him on his lap. It was a pile of something slushy and brown, slightly grey, in something round and hollow, like an empty hemisphere. They told him it was bowl, and inside the bowl, the slush, was porridge. They told him to eat it, and he tried to, but it tasted wrong, like his voice was wrong. He didn’t like it, but he was forced to eat it anyway.

They gave him clothes, but they didn’t feel right either. They felt scratchy and hurt a little, but he wasn’t allowed to complain. Just like he wasn’t allowed to go through the door, unless they took him out.

The door led to the corridor. The corridor was plain white, they had told him what the colour was called, and it was everywhere, along with grey, brown and black. He didn’t like those colours. They were too plain, they didn’t look nice.

When they took him to the corridor, they made him do things. He was told to break things, stick to things and shoot something from his wrist. They called it a ‘web’. If he didn’t do what they wanted, they would hurt him. He didn’t like them.

All he knew was a corridor, filled with doors he wasn’t allowed through, and one he was. His door. The one that led to his room.

His room had a rickety bed and a large mirror that filled nearly an entire wall. He assumed the other doors were like this, but he had no way of knowing.

He wasn’t allowed.

He knew nothing but the corridor, his room, his mirror, and them, that would walk into his room occasionally and take him out to the corridor. They weren’t nice. But he had no concept of anything else. This was all he knew, and they told him this was all he would ever know or need to know.

Until the building shook while he was in the corridor.

They were worried. He could see it in their faces. They were emotional. The other doors opened. More others, more them, came into the corridor too. Or maybe they were more him. But either way, the others were being moved with him.

He wanted to be scared, to have a reaction to the building shakes, but he felt nothing, unlike them. They were worried. They moved the others and the others couldn’t argue, disagree, disobey. He wasn’t allowed to disobey, he wasn’t allowed to leave the corridor or his without permission or enter the other doors. But now he was being told something else. Now they were making him leave the corridor.

He didn’t want to. The corridor was order. Outside the corridor was unknown, new and unpredictable. The corridor was all he knew. And he was never going to see it again.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

While leaving, the building shook again, and fell. It felt on some of them and the others. He was okay. And the others it didn’t fall on were okay. He still had to move. He was still being forced to leave all that he knew.

More shakes. The building kept shaking until he reached a door that he could see through. There was more out there. No corridors, no doors, no white, other colours, other things. Nothing he knew. Things he didn’t want to know.

That was not okay.


	2. Chapter 2

The ‘trucks’, as they called them, were big and black. There were three and each could hold five of him and the others. There were thirteen of them, he counted. He ended up in a truck with two other males and two females. The others were all older than him, he was clearly the newest made.

There were two windows on the back doors of the trucks he was in, and he could see the two other trucks behind his. This truck shook when the last truck flipped into the air, orange light bursting out the sides. Fire. No one will have survived. The same then happened to the next truck.

Very quickly, the final truck flipped into the air as well, but it didn’t set on fire like the other two. It smashed onto the ground. The others all had red falling from their heads. He had seen enough of his own red to know what it meant. It meant the others were all gone. His head was lolling on his shoulders. Sound wasn’t right, and neither was his sight. His head hurt as well.

The doors of the truck opened and that’s when he realised it was upside-down. The people outside the truck weren’t them. The people were new. He looked blearily at the people and groaned, pushing a hand to his head. One of the people grabbed him gently, undoing the strap and pulling him into the person’s arms. The person didn’t look like a person, he was made completely from metal, with glowing white eyes. The metal person’s face opened to reveal a real person’s face. It was a male. The man was talking to him but he didn’t hear. His eyes closed and everything was black.

 

When he woke up, he was back in his room. Wait…it wasn’t his room. It couldn’t be his room. It had other colours and things were in the wrong place. He felt a poke in his arm, a needle, but it was different to the ones they used with him. It led to a tube with some clear fluid in a bag on the other end. It was also in the back of his hand, rather than the inside of his elbow.

The person that undid the strap was sitting in a chair next to him, clearly asleep. The person was no longer wearing the metal clothes and was instead wearing a black shirt and dark grey trousers. He was curious as to why the person was sitting with him when he had never met the man before.

The man’s eyes opened and looked over to him. He froze and looked away, deciding instead to look up at the ceiling. He wasn’t allowed to look at them without permission, why should this man be expecting anything different? The man was quiet and sighed a little before speaking.

“Hey, kid. You’re finally awake.” The man’s voice was gentle and spoke to him in a way that he had never been spoken to before. He found himself wanting to respond, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, so instead he nodded slowly.

“Do you have a name?” The man asked. He shook his head, choosing again to deny verbal response. He swallowed nervously, he felt ready to cry. But he wasn’t allowed to cry, he wasn’t allowed to show emotions.

“How old are you?” The man asked. He swallowed again and realised he had to respond verbally this time.

“I don’t know sir.” He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. He was trying so hard not to cry. For once he wanted to go back to his room. His room was familiar. He knew his room. He knew the corridor. He didn’t know this. However, it seemed like going back wasn’t an option. They were all dead, the others were dead. He was the only one left from that building.

The man was looking at him with a sad look on his face. He was confused as to why the man felt sad about this, about him. Did the man not want to use him like they did? Toy with his body and make him do things he didn’t want to? No. It seemed not.

“Why’d you call me ‘sir’?” The man questioned, voice sad. The man was definitely sad, tears filling eyes like he wouldn’t let himself. If the man was crying, would he be allowed? No, that’s not how it works.

“T-They made me.” He gulped. He didn’t want to disappoint the man, he knew what happened when you disappointed them, disobeyed them. He was not allowed. “I’m sorry. What would like me to call you?”

“My name is Tony Stark.” The man replied. “Hey, why don’t you look at me?” Mr. Stark was gentle…and sad. Why? What made this man so sad about him?! He was confused, he needed answers, but he couldn’t ask. He wasn’t allowed to ask.

“Do I have permission?”

“Permission? Why do you need permission?” Mr. Stark sighed and waved a hand. “Yes, yes, you have permission.” He looked at Stark properly now. The man was not young, but not old. There was a dark beard cut in a way he had never seen on any of them before. It must be unique. Then looked at his eyes. Sad eyes, sad, sad, sad, SAD! Why were they sad?! His breathing picked up. Sad was the only word ringing through his mind. He looked away again to pull in breath.

“Shit. Bruce!” Mr. Stark called. The man was standing, resting a hand on his arm and rubbing it gently. Another man walked in. This person was different, with slightly curly hair, glasses and no beard.

“What’s wrong? Is he okay?” The new man, Bruce as Mr. Stark had called him, ran over and looked at the machines beeping, then over at him.

“I don’t know. I asked him to look at me and he suddenly started freaking out.” Sad. Sad, sad, sad, sad. Why did it hurt that Stark was sad? What was so painful? Why did he hurt?!

“It seems to just be panic attack. I’ll give him an oxygen mask and then we’ll put him to sleep again.” Bruce was a lot calmer than Mr. Stark. “We’ll ease him into it.”

“I don’t like sad. Why are you sad?” He blabbered, not realising he was talking out loud. “Why does it hurt? What makes your sadness hurt? Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad!” He all but screamed. He kept mumbling different thoughts and sentences, sometimes repeating ‘sad’, until the darkness slipped in, and he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Whenever he woke up, Mr. Stark and Bruce would try to talk to him, get him to answer questions. He tried his best, knowing what was expected of him, apologising beyond world’s end when he couldn’t. They were nicer than them. They were a new them, that cared when he was hurt and didn’t fight him when he didn’t do what they wanted. They were his them, the better them. He wanted to stay with them.

He was slowly starting to realise that because they were a different they, he was not expected to do whatever he had done at his old building, in the corridor. He still knew very little, and on occasion wished he was back to what he knew, but after they told him there was nothing left of them and the others, he wasn’t sure if he was sad or relieved. He was free, but he knew nothing, he was lost.

They gave him food after they took the needle out. It was better than whatever he was given at the building, and he was happier, but he was cautious. He trusted Stark and Bruce, but maybe they didn’t trust him. He knew that. They were polite, and were gentle, sad…they cared, but they didn’t trust. He saw the looks no one could see, he heard the words they didn’t want him to, unless he was asleep.

He was endlessly polite to them, apologising whenever he felt he had to, thanking them for every small thing. He never asked for anything and didn’t look them in the eye until they asked him to. Even then he only did it until the end of the conversation.

“You need a name.” Mr. Stark said one day. He was still staying in that room, but the machines were starting to disappear. He was happy with that. Stark still looked at him with a sad look, but the look was not the same. It was softer, more understanding, now that they were getting to know each other better than before.

“Why?” He was eating a bowl of cereal, laid on the table that extended from his bed. Mr. Stark huffed a laugh and placed a book on the table next to the bowl.

“You can pick your name if you want. But I can’t keep calling you kid.” Stark sat on the bed next to him and wrapped an arm around the back of the bed gingerly. Stark let the kid keep eating and opened the book. It was a book of baby names, split into boys’ names and girls’ names. Stark flicked through the boys’ pages holding it in front of the kid, letting him read the pages. He made the man stop on one page and pointed to a name.

“Peter?” Stark gave him a look. “You like the name Peter?” The boy nodded shyly. “Why do you like it?” He shrugged and shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, like they would take it away at any point.

“I’m Peter?” He asked, his voice quiet and unsure. Wrong. He wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Peter. Peter. Peter. He was Peter. He wanted to be Peter. Stark smiled sadly and rubbed the boy’s arm. Sad. Why was he sad now? Sad. Sad. Sad.

“Peter it is.” Stark stood up slowly, trying to not jolt the kid and wrote it on the chart at the foot of the bed. “Peter…” He said slowly, exaggerating the different noises in the word. “What surname?” Peter shrugged again, not certain anymore. He knew he wanted his name to be Peter but didn’t know why and didn’t know what surname he wanted. He knew only two surnames, Stark and Banner.

“How about we leave it for now?” Peter nodded and pushed the final spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Peter was happy. A name! It was his. Now he had something that was better than just a room, he was someone. They were his now as well. He was theirs. He was more than an experiment. He was a person, with a family. Stark, or Tony as he should call him now, and Bruce. Tony said there were others as well. Others who would be his family. People who would care about him.

But he was also confused. Why did he make this man so sad? Why did that sadness hurt? Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad. Tony is sad about Peter. Peter. Peter. He was Peter. But that was all he knew about this world. He was missing the corridor a little. The order, the routine. Here, everything was chaos. He was him, and there was Tony and Bruce. But nothing was certain, the cereal was different every day, the clouds different shapes, light in different places, a different thing to do every day.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But he knew he missed the order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this story. I'm really proud of it so far. I hope you guys keep reading! Look forward to the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short. Sorry. But i was away and this was what i came up with. I thought i should post it to tide people over so. Here you go!

Peter was male. He knew that since he woke up.

Peter was supposed to be fifteen, from the way he looked. Tony had figured it out properly using a device Peter couldn’t define. However, he wasn’t fifteen. He was two. He had existed and was aware of who he was for two years.

Peter had brown, short, curly hair. He liked hiss curls. He liked the way they would bounce. Tony didn’t have curls, but they wouldn’t suit him anyway.

Peter missed the corridor. He missed what he knew. He missed certainty. But having freedom was better. He could do anything. He just didn’t know what he wanted to do.

Peter was part spider. Bruce had told him after taking a blood sample. He was mostly human, but part of him was spider. It explained a lot. Enhanced senses, climbing walls, his healing, the webs that came from his wrists.

Peter was the name Tony had helped him choose. Tony had also given him food, a home, a bed and lots of books to read. He liked reading books. But he preferred watching movies. Especially Star Wars. His favourite was Chewbacca, but he also liked R2-D2.

Peter didn’t belong in the world. He wasn’t supposed to be saved by Tony and Bruce. He was created to live in the corridor with them, the bad them.

Peter made Tony Stark sad.

And it hurt him.


	5. Chapter 5

When Peter was allowed out of the med bay, Tony gave him a choice. Go into the system for a proper family or stay with him and the Avengers. It was an easy choice. Tony had saved him. Tony was okay with his powers, the fact he wasn’t normal. Tony wanted him around. Choosing to stay with him made Tony happy. That happiness was much better than anything else Peter knew. He never wanted Tony to be sad again. His happiness was amazing.

After choosing, he was given a tour around the Avengers Tower, or whatever Tony had called it. He was shown to his room and was told he could decorate it in any way he wanted to. He kept it simple at first, but after watching more movies and reading more books, the room started to slowly fill with merchandise.

Even though everything was happy now, his mind tricked him in his sleep. His dreams used to be the experiments they were doing had gone too far and killed him. Now, they were of losing Tony and everything he had learnt, had come to know, waking up in his room, the corridor right outside the closed door.

Some nights, after a nightmare, he slept upside-down on the ceiling. It had given Bruce quite a fright when he came to check on him. While they were aware of his powers, and knew what he could do, they were still surprised when they saw him on the ceiling or webs dotted around his room. It just made it all the more obvious that he wasn’t normal.

The thought lingered in his mind that the bad they were still out there. Despite Tony assuring him they were all killed after the attack, Peter couldn’t believe it. He didn’t choose to believe it. If he believed it, he would let his guard down and they would come and take him away from his family, to make him do what they wanted again.

One time, Tony had placed a hand on his knee affectionately. They were just sitting, watching a movie, when it happened. Peter was so happy with the contact, but he was also confused at to what caused it. But in that moment, he didn’t care, he just wanted to be locked in then, to be stuck in the now, the warmth, the comfort, wouldn’t be so bad. So, he placed his hand on Tony’s and all that happiness left.

In its place was a deep-seated sadness that spread throughout his body, bringing tears to his eyes. He tried to pull his hand away but found he couldn’t. This wasn’t what he wanted to be stuck in. He liked the happiness, not the sad. Why? **Why?!** _ **WHY?!**_ What was happening?!

He divided the sad into a few parts. Self-loathing, mourning and a small part of futile anger. But that most certainly wasn’t his own. He felt those in small parts, but not much. He didn’t feel angry, but occasionally he hated and feared himself and his powers, knowing he made Tony sad sometimes. He also mourned the life he should have had and the others that were lost in the attack the Avengers did that saved him.

He let go of Tony’s hand. Suddenly the crushing sadness disappeared and it left Peter feeling empty and tired. He sagged against the sofa, carefully not touching Tony. He wiped away his tears and moved closer to the man next to him.

He decided to ignore it for now.


	6. Chapter 6

The next step, after using movies for most lessons, was school. There were just some things that Tony couldn’t do at the Tower. Some things he couldn’t teach. And if he was going to hold to his promise to give Peter a normal life, school was a big step in the right direction.

After a few lessons in normal human interaction, which Peter picked up quite easily, Tony declared him ready. They got him a school bag, books, notebook, pencil case, pens and other things he would need, some normal teenager clothes as well, and sent him off to Midtown High School for Science and Technology. Well, drop him off and follow him to the office, help him with his timetable and then walk him to his locker and first lesson.

First lesson was…intimidating. It was an easy lesson, a fun one for Peter, (chemistry) but being there, first day, knowing no-one and never having been around teenagers, was not exactly easy for him. He decided to sit in the back and hide for the first week, but it wasn’t that easy, apparently. He was called to the front, introduced to everyone as the new kid, and was instructed to tell his story.

He gave the basic one Tony and Pepper had come up with and gone over with him several times. He was an orphan that was adopted by some nice people that were old college friends with Pepper. Then, they got caught up in an accident at work and sadly died. He was taken in by Pepper, and therefore Tony. Most of the students didn’t believe him when he said Tony Stark had taken him in, but there were a couple that did. A boy that was a lot larger than everyone else and girl that didn’t act like any of the others. Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones. They came and spoke to him after the end of the lesson and introduced themselves.

Ned said how cool it was that he was living with the Avengers and kept asking questions. Peter answered them as best he could without giving any important details away. Michelle just sat quietly and listened. Peter enjoyed the contrast in their characters. They were nothing like the movies or what Tony had told him and he liked that fact. He was also very relieved these people were nice, that they believed him, that they wanted to be his friends.

The rest of the day went a bit more smoothly. Ned and Michelle were in a few of his lessons so he wasn’t alone all day. At the end of the day, when Tony came and picked him up, he told him all about the two people who believed him. Tony was beyond happy for him and so were the other Avengers when he told them about Ned and Michelle.

The next few weeks went the same way. Peter would have most of his lessons with Ned and Michelle, and enjoy most of his day, then go home, do his catch-up homework and tell Tony, Pepper and the Avengers about his day.

Peter found school to be a mix of emotions. It was happiness with friends, stress from schoolwork, tiredness from the stress and many more. It sometimes hurt less than the Tower, especially when he was with Ned and Michelle, but other times, with the stress, it hurt much more. The Tower was mostly happy, but still hurt with the pain all the Avengers had gone through.

He found that Ned’s house was very happy. They all loved each other dearly, and there was little to no turmoil and pain. If he ever needed a break from the sadness that hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt…he would go to Ned’s house. It hurt less. Much less.

He hadn’t gone around Michelle’s house, her claiming he would know ‘too much about her’. Ned had laughed it off and Peter had tried to as well but was slightly confused. She had quirked her lip up as well to tell him she was joking and then proceeded to invite both him and Ned around. Her house wasn’t as happy as Ned’s, but happier than the Tower.

He loved school. Nothing could ruin it for him. He hoped things could only go up for him.

But the more he learned at school, the more he wanted to learn about himself. His biological parents, how he came to be, what caused his powers. Who he was or who he was meant to be.

But for now, he could be content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little less angsty than the rest, but i really wanted to write some fluff for my boy.


	7. Chapter 7

Like he said, nothing could ruin school for him. Until he showed Flash Thompson up in chemistry. Flash had answered quickly and wrong, and because he was hiding at the back of the classroom, Peter was called upon. He corrected the answer despite the glares he was receiving from Flash.

Peter immediately looked down and continued doodling. Steve Rogers, Captain America, had taught him a lot about drawing and Peter found he quite enjoyed it. He doodled whenever he could. Right now, he was drawing a small spider in a cartoon style with a web stretching behind it.

He had tried to keep to himself a bit, just to keep himself out of people’s view. If he got in the way, people would question him, and he couldn’t risk being questioned. He knew he wasn’t normal, he knew other teenagers weren’t like him. Tony had made that very clear. So, he kept out of the way, made an effort to not be noticed. He had tried to, anyway, but apparently, now things weren’t going to work out that way. He was on Flash’s radar.

Flash wasn’t happy. His whole being reeked of discontent and misguided anger. Peter felt a little sorry for Flash, but the way the boy handled his confusing emotions was wrong, and made Peter lose some of his sympathy. When he was around Flash, his heart began to beat quicker, and he couldn’t help but feel like he wanted to punch something. So, he tried to keep away from Flash, but that was difficult at school when they shared some lessons.

Sometimes, Peter would bump into someone in the hall by accident and feel the wave of emotion. He tried to block it out, but the more he bumped into someone and felt those things, the harder it was to block the next one. He avoided contact as much as possible, even at home with Tony.

The Avengers didn’t question when he flinched away from their touch. They had known the basics of what he’d been through and decided that it was probably just some form of PTSD and decided to just leave it as it was, let him go at his own speed.

Soon, his touch sensitivity became too much, he could touch an object and feel it’s past, feel the emotions that were passed onto it from a moment. He definitely didn’t like the kitchen island and one of the cabinets in the kitchen. He found out that they were touched a lot when Tony’s parents had died; the cabinet had alcohol in it. He never touched those. They hurt too much.

Bucky hurt to touch. Peter knew what he had been through, what Hydra had done. Bucky felt of anger, fear of his mind and loss. However, he would’ve thought he would feel the same thing with the metal arm, but it was laced with different emotions. A small dash of care, like it was made with delicacy. It was mostly empty, but there was an underlying sense of guilt and the tiniest bit of fear. Like it was never touched enough to hold emotions, or it was touched too much so all the emotions cancelled out. Peter could never know.

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He hid in his room and refused to touch anything that came into the room. His room was clean, empty because they were new, or quiet with emotions he had put there. That felt safe. They were his. They were okay.

He would only eat with his hands, not willing to risk touching the utensils in case they were full. When he noticed, Tony bought him his own plate, utensils and cup. Everything that he used had to be his own.

There were some things that were happy. He went ‘round Ned’s house whenever he could, to get a boost of happiness. He enjoyed when Antman, or Scott, came to the tower to visit. He was happier than the others. He also loved Cassie’s company, Scott’s daughter. She was young and always felt happy. Peter was very willing to babysit for Scott. Cassie and Ned were his best inputs, best control for his touches. They were happy, they didn’t hurt.

Why did people hurt? Why were they always sad? Especially Tony?

Why Peter?


	8. Chapter 8

Peter was tired. Everything they tried to do to ‘fix’ him wasn’t working. He stayed in his room. He didn’t want to see anyone anymore. Even if he wasn’t touching them, he could tell how sad they were for him. He didn’t want them to be sad.

It was his fault.

 

Tony was running out of options. He had a couple last grabs he wanted to try. There was a ‘Doctor Strange’ somewhere in New York that he was currently trying to find. A doctor is good right? God he hoped so. Even if he didn’t, they had another option.

Thor had met a group of odd people during his intergalactic travels. They called themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy. Thor said they had a girl who can sense and control emotions, which may help Peter, but they had no reason to be sure. They were also unable to find the Guardians. Tony had sent Thor out to find them but he hadn’t come back for a couple weeks now.

Peter was in a lot of pain. He couldn’t sleep and they couldn’t give him anything to knock him out. He had super-metabolism that burned through the drugs too quickly. This was why they wanted the Doctor/Wizard or whatever he was. He could help. Right?

 

They found the Doctor reasonably easy. He was in a not very subtle building in New York that he had later told them was called the Sanctum. It was the hub for protecting the planet against ‘dimensional’ beings. Think more alternate dimension than aliens. He was very proud of this fact.

Doctor Stephen Strange. The man who could only help Peter by putting him to sleep. It was all his powers had allowed him to do. But, his magic told them something else.

“Peter isn’t exactly human.” The doctor had said. Tony scoffed.

“We knew that already. He’s part spider from experiments some bastards were performing on him and others.”

“No, no. Well, yes, but that isn’t what I mean.” Strange took a breath. “Peter is human and spider. But he is only half human and only slightly spider.”

“What are you saying?”

“He has another thing as part of his DNA. He is part alien. He is mostly human, quite a bit alien, and a small part spider.”

“But how?”

“Procreation. A human and an alien produced him.”

 

This was when they really needed the Guardian’s help. They had a couple aliens in their group, they would be best. They have a vaster knowledge than the Avengers and more than Thor could offer.

Peter was kept in his room, even when knocked out. Strange had slipped him into a coma, not one he wakes up from on his own, a simple spell. When Peter would be okay, Strange would wake him up and they would all go on with their lives…Tony hoped anyway. They were the Avengers. They would always be threatened or attacked, by humans or aliens.

 

Peter couldn’t hear anything around him. He knew he was in his room, asleep after a spell Doctor Strange had put on him. With his permission of course. He knew he was in his room, but he couldn’t see it, or hear it, or feel it. He was trapped in an empty space.

It was relaxing and terrifying at the same time.


	9. Chapter 9

_His heart spasmed in his chest as they came nearer to his bed in his room in the corridor. The simple corridor. The only thing that he knew._

That’s not right. He knew more than that.

_He was strapped to his bed again. That meant an experiment. He wasn’t going to sleep for a while. It was the rules. It hurt._

More than just the experiments hurt.

_He was lost. He couldn’t find a way out. He didn’t know anything other than what was here and now._

_The world changed…_

_He was much smaller, tiny. He couldn’t even reach the top of the dining room table. He wanted to reach. Mummy would laugh at him and then lift him up to the big-boy chair he loved._

_Everything was bright._

_His mummy was gentle, his daddy was gone. He was a space man, mummy had told him. He wasn’t human. He was special, like he was. He had to pretend he was human though, otherwise he would be hurt for being different. Mummy loved him for himself and his powers, but no humans would. They would hurt him…_

_Why, why, why,_

_why, why,_

_why…_

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he took a deep breath with a gasp like he had come out from under water. Tony quickly joined him at his side. He couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Mummy…” He whispered. He felt like he could cry at any time. He wanted to cry. He remembered his mummy. He remembered more than the corridor. He remembered a house. He remembered that his daddy wasn’t human.

“Mummy? Kid, what do you mean?” Tony asked gently. He wanted to reach out and smooth the kid’s hair, but he was still touch-sensitive.

“I remember my mummy.” He panted. “She was so beautiful. She was human but she was special. She loved me so much.” He smiled softly. “I don’t really remember my daddy, but I remember what mummy said about him. He was a space man, and, because he was, I was too.”

“We know you’re not human kiddo.” Tony said. Peter looked at him confused. “Strange figured it out. You are mostly human, part alien, a bit spider.”

“So what type of alien was my dad?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. We have some people coming here soon, they will help us.”

“Good.” Peter promptly passed out.

 

Thor arrived with the Guardians. They were like a group of space pirates, with slightly obscure costumes. One was a talking raccoon, another was a talking tree. One was green and another was grey and red. One looked relatively normal but had antennae sprouting from her head, and the last one was just a normal human.

The raccoon was pissed off, and he was apparently called Rocket and refused to admit he was a raccoon. The tree only said his name over and over, “I am Groot” but the others seem to take it with actual meaning. The two girls, the green one, Gamora, and the antennae one, Mantis, were sympathetic, to the point of yelling at Rocket and the grey and red one, Drax. The human, Peter Quill or Starlord, stayed quiet.

“We have a theory of what’s happening, from Thor’s description.” Gamora said. “Can we see him?” Tony nodded and guided them to Peter’s room.

He was still asleep, lying quietly in bed. He looked so much more peaceful, but an occasional flinch of pain would cross his face when he moved. Tony looked at him in pity. Dr. Strange pressed a glowing hand to his forehead and his eyes fluttered open. He shifted and sat up slowly, flinching at the large group of people and their flooding emotions.

“Poor thing. No wonder he’s in so much pain.” She said, gently. “He never had any help.” She placed her hands on the sides of his face, her thumbs on his forehead. She concentrated, before a gentle white light came from under the spots her thumbs were pressed against. Peter gasped at the sensation. Mantis pulled her hands away and they all stared in awe as two antennae grew from Peter’s forehead, identical to those on Mantis’.

Peter sighed in relief and fell back against the pillows. He could just see the antennae in his view. They were his skin colour until just before ends where they spread out a little, like small glowing white leaves. He raised a hand and touched them gingerly, and they flinched a little at the touch.

“What?” Came out of several mouths in the room, including Peter’s.

“He is just like me.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I remember so much. I thought the corridor was everything. It was all I ever knew. But there was so much more that I had no idea about. They made me forget. They made me forget my mummy and my life before them.” Peter was quiet talking to Tony. He was holding his hand now, without having to fight away Tony’s horrible emotions. He only had to activate his powers to know, which he did. Tony was sad, for him and his life, but he was also happy. A proud kind of happy that made Peter light up inside.

“I remember her now. I don’t remember her completely. I was only four when they took me. But I remember her hands and her smile and her voice and her laugh. She was so kind to me.” He trailed off. “But first, I have so many questions. You did a test, right? To see my age.”

“I did.” Tony replied.

“Then why did it say I was two when I’m fifteen, with a childhood and everything?”

“My theory is it detected when your biology changed to include the spider.”

“Alright. And one of my other questions is…can you help me find my mummy?”

“Of course.”

 

Peter’s mum was not easy to find. Peter didn’t have any birth records…at all. It made sense though. He wouldn’t have been born in a hospital, with his mismatched DNA. And he had no father, as he was a ‘space man’ as Peter said his mum put it. It was not an easy feat, but Tony figured it out.

Peter’s mum was dead.

She had died in a plane crash not long after Peter had been taken. Her husband had also died in that crash. When Tony asked if Peter remembered anything about a stepfather, all that was in his memory was his mum, nothing about another man in place of his father. It hurt Peter a little to hear that his mum had married someone other than his father, but after reading about him, Peter soon warmed up to the man he wished he either remembered or even met in the first place.

Peter decided to read up on everything that Tony had found on his mum. While Peter was sitting alone while scrolling through the file on a tablet Tony had given him. During this, Tony was looking through the family tree to find who would be the closest to Peter for him to meet and learn more about his family.

This turned out to be Peter’s step-father’s brother, therefore his step-uncle, and his wife. Tony did his best to track them down and eventually he did. They lived in Queens in a tiny apartment they could only just afford.

Tony would love to take Peter to see them, but with his new antennae, he couldn’t exactly go out without something going wrong and people talking about him. So, he spoke to them, explained what he assumed had happened, and asked them if they wanted to meet Peter. They were very willing to come, even after Tony explained that Peter wasn’t exactly human,

 

It was about noon when Ben and May Parker visited the Compound. They were…overwhelmed to say the least. They had only just found out that the tiny, happy little baby they had met a few times was part alien, then also part spider, and had been missing for years while being experimented on. Now, they were meeting him.

Peter was shy. He hid around the corner when Tony guided them into the living room. He poked his head around when Tony gently called his name. Ben and May gasped a little at his appearance and he ducked back behind the corner. Tears pricked his eyes a little and he sank to the floor, his back against the wall.

Ben moved before anyone could talk. He turned the corner and sat next to Peter, saying nothing. Peter looked up, moving slightly away from Ben in a slight hurry. His antennae lifted and sank slowly in unison in front of his eyes. Ben stared at him with a gentle smile on his face.

“Your mum never stopped looking for you.”

“What?”

“She always thought she was going to find you. She always believed you were out there and you were going to make your way back.”

“What was Mummy like?”

“I brought you a picture.” Ben pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled an aged and slightly crumpled photo out of a young smiling woman. “Tony told me you remembered her, but not much. I thought you might want a picture of her.” Peter gently took the photo from Ben and rubbed a finger over his mum’s smiling face.

“You weren’t related to her, were you?”

“No.”

“So we’re not related.”

Ben hesitated. “No.”

“I wish we were.”

Ben smiled and gently placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. The boy looked up at the smiling man and placed his hand on Ben’s. The wave of regret, sympathy and happiness hit him like a bus. Tears were brought to his eyes and he leaned against Ben.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not judging me.”

“You’re welcome.”


	11. Chapter 11

It was May’s idea. The Avengers had come as well, and everyone was dressed in dark colours. Peter looked around at everyone who had come to support him and pay their respects as well, to the woman who had given them Peter.

May suggested Peter speak, but he felt he couldn’t, because he didn’t know her well enough. So he got May and Ben to speak. They each told him a story, with all the Avengers listening, about his mother and the amazing things she had done, before and after he was taken. He sat there, listening to everything intently, face emotionless. His antennae lit up on occasions, the only sign of movement or acknowledgement.

When it was finished, Peter retreated to his room. He spent a few hours there alone. When he came back out, he leaned his head against Tony’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Tony smirked. “You’re welcome kid.” He ruffled his hair. They sat on the sofa until Peter fell asleep.

 

They decided it best that Peter didn’t go back to school. While Peter insisted he was okay, the only reason left was his antennae. He couldn’t argue there, but still sulked in his room. Tony called the only person he thought could help in this moment.

Ned came over the next day after school. Peter was sitting the living room, unaware of what was about to happen.

Ned walked in and knocked on the wall to alert Peter. The boy looked up and stood up quickly.

“Hey.” Ned said, moving forward a couple steps, but not getting close enough to freak him out.

“Hi.” Peter whispered. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked down at his feet, unsure of how to react. Ned shifted his own feet when he suddenly felt arms wrap around his chest. Peter’s head was against his shoulder and he froze before moving his arms around Peter’s much smaller frame.

“I missed you.” Peter said, voice muffled by Ned’s chest.

“I missed you too.”

 

Everything went smoothly from then on. Peter didn’t go back to school, but Tony decided to home school him himself. Peter loved spending days straight in the lab. He adored physics and biology, especially his own. He was constantly comparing and analysing the differences in the DNA of the Avengers. He compared his and Mantis’ once.

He found things like that absolutely fascinating. The way things worked, logic and order, contrasted the waves of emotion he could feel from those he touched. He could control it now, but, depending on his mental state, he would still feel what others did.

All the Avengers were prepared to help him. Ben and May came over on the weekends to visit him. He found himself much more relaxed in their presence. Ned visited after school as often as possible.

Peter had never felt so happy, especially compared to the corridor and his room. He could never put into words how happy he was.

One night, he was lying on Tony on the sofa while they were watching Star Wars. He placed his hand on Tony’s arm gently, pushing his happiness forward. Tony looked down at him with a small smile, laughing with tears falling down his cheeks.

“This is how you feel?” Tony asked. Peter smiled, tears filling his eyes as well.

“It’s all I know.”


End file.
